[attr="class","icon"]

It is apparently his fault much of the stuffy, holiday flora spread throughout their mansion make his throat swell and his nose sniffly. He is causing a scene by timidly and politely asking in the presence of their extended family to be excused as a headache starts to form behind his eyes. They make the scene first, and he does escalate it when he excuses himself without their consent.[break][break]

It’s stupid and trivial. But he is pushed to it— that is what he reminds himself.[break][break]

Sitting on the long, cushioned window seat of the family library, Hazel pulls his knees up to his chest and nestles his chin on them as he stares out the window. Arms circle his chest as he holds himself in tight, rigid formation.[break][break]

Outside, he sees one of his cousins traipse through the snow, and he wonders if it would be nice to go outside and join them— if only to breathe some clear air that isn’t the stifling and oppressive sort that claws his lungs every passing day he spends in his father’s house.[break][break]

There’s too much space, there’s not enough space.[break][break]

He’s suffocating here in Hammerlocke. Figuratively and literally, as a sudden coughing fit reminds him exactly why it would be foolish to step outside right now. His back and lungs ache as he’s racked with coughs, shoulders tensing as he curls further in on himself.[break][break]

This is the frustrating thing that his parents don’t seem to want to accept— he wouldn’t be like this if he had the choice. Sickly and ill. He’d rather thrive and shine as his elder siblings do. He works hard, and it’s unfair that it falls by the wayside. They are not even the sort of concerned parents who fuss and hover around him when an episode strikes.[break][break]

Embarrassment flushes through him when his uncle Dmitri seems to materialize from nowhere at the tail end of his fit. “Uncle,” he says, voice still raspy and strained as he quickly sits up straight and rigid. He does not answer the question as he watches the older man through watery, red-rimmed eyes.[break][break]

Instead, once he regains his breath— “I am sorry that I dismissed myself so rudely. It was unbecoming of me, and not befitting for someone my age and of my family’s reputation.”

[attr="class","icon"]

dark red eyes shutter over in something akin to approval as HAZEL KLEIN offers his apology, but his smile is charitable as he regards his favorite nephew. he places a hand atop the other's violet locks, a small little pat, before he seats himself down beside him.

[break][break] "don't be silly," he chides. "you were ill."

[break][break] unfolding from his pocket is an inhaler — a special formula that they were working on at the lab, that his father-in-law had let him test.

[break][break] "you should try these. our trial has done well with them — results within minutes." he flashes his teeth in a cheshire smile, ruby-red gaze glancing down at the children in the yard. neither of them were his sons. he knew that both his children would know better than to run amock in the yard, especially when it was so cold outside.

[break][break] he peels the curtain back slightly, witnessing his youngest standing just outside a window beside his mother peeling oranges.

[break][break] the scarlet-red gaze diverts back to his nephew.

[break][break] "now," he says. "tell me what's the matter. what is bothering you, hazel?"

[attr="class","icon"]

“Thank you, sir.” Relief slides through his system at the dismissal, the hand atop his hair. He is only eighteen, unable to see the appeasement for what it is—he is too focused on the fact that someone agrees that he can’t help it. Understands.[break][break]

“Hmm..” Though he often flourishes under the attention his uncle provides, Hazel still eyes the inhaler warily. He takes it when offered, but only turns it between his fingers. He’s fastidious about his medications, little good that they seem to be doing at present. Adding an unknown factor to the cocktail feels risky.[break][break]

“I am just..” he pauses, hesitating long enough to release a frustrated breath, “my illness only matters when it befits a doting public appearance. Otherwise, it is an inconvenience or an embarrassment.”[break][break]

His stare returns to fixate on the winter scene that unfolds on the other side of the window. “I tarnish their image of something ideal. I’m too weak, my accomplishments do not matter because they are not similar my brother’s.”[break][break]

Hazel has no desire to be a politician and diplomat like his father, and now his brother as well. He doesn’t want to be a spoiled socialite like his sisters. That’s the real root cause— their disapproval in his desire to pursue academia as a career coupled with every bit of fragility he’s carried for all of his life.[break][break]

Bitterness coats the words he speaks, and finally, he lifts the inhaler to take a puff from it. The medicinal coat that seeps down his throat and into his lungs is relieving. Instantly so—perhaps dangerously so?

[attr="class","icon"]

"hmm..."

[break][break] dmitri stands up, walking away from hazel to grab the half-empty glass that he had abandoned on the counter, and returns to his spot beside his nephew.

[break][break] he sits down onto the soft cushions, one leg hooked over the other and leans forward, balancing his elbow atop his knee. the cup turns in his hand, the golden liquid reflecting in the looking glass.

[break][break] "have i ever told you the story how wyndon pharmaceuticals came to be?"

[break][break] it may have seemed like a wild goose chase, a random story admist a plethora of sympathies, but dmitri was hardly a man who believed in wasting time.

[attr="class","icon"]

He’s not sure how to interpret the wordless response.[break][break]

Pale gray eyes follow Dmitri as he stands and moves away. And for a frantic moment, Hazel thinks that it was maybe a dismissal and that his uncle is retreating without another word uttered. Something pathetic and desperate rises up in his throat. Pitiful, the way he wants to call after him immediately, so needing in some sort of approval. A desire for understanding and acceptance where he finds none with his parents, or even his siblings.[break][break]

It is lonely and exhausting feeling so different all of the time.[break][break]

But rather than leave, his uncle only retrieves his glass and returns. Hazel feels that anxiety rush away, and the tension that made his shoulders climb without realizing it eases. Allowing them to slump again.[break][break]

He masks all of this of course, watching Dmitri with a carefully tailored look of neutrality. Even-keel. Impassive, even if he’s always bursting at the seams inside. Every minute of the day, all of the time.[break][break]

Slowly, his head shakes, silvery lilac hair flipping around his face with the motion. “No, I don’t think so.” For all of his nonchalance, the creep of curiosity slinks into his voice, unbidden and relentless.[break][break]

[attr="class","icon"]

it's a private thrill — the ability to make others wanting for his approval, to make them needless and desperate for any form of attention. it is reasons such as these that he appreciates hazel albrecht.

[break][break] because he is so easy to bend and mold.

[break][break] dmitri is near-always calculated in his approach, only giving just enough for those to bear interest. to stir one's appetite.

[break][break] "well," he amends himself. "i cannot speak for the beginning, but i can speak for mine. as you know, your grandfather owns wyndon pharmaceuticals but i'm the standing president." he was not, of course, speaking of his own father but that of his wife's. immanuel had given him the job after they had wed. "before i met your aunt, however, i was not all that different from you."

[break][break] "when i was younger, my own parents found me to be unsatisfactory." he slides a glance over to hazel. "weak."

[break][break] "i spent many days in a hospital as a youth, because of various illnesses. but it was in all that time that i had the time to think, to craft my mind sharper than any sword."

[break][break] dmitri shifts, turning his body towards his nephew.

[break][break] "you are not weak, hazel. you are... "

[break][break] he reaches over, smiling. a hand placed over his head.

[break][break] "you are what you make of yourself. what you see in yourself. and what i see is a man of endless potential."

[break][break] then he pulls back, sipping on his drink.

[break][break] "tell me, hazel. of your pursuits, your interests. what makes you better than your brothers?"

[attr="class","icon"]

Hazel listens, enraptured, as his uncle explains. He hadn’t been aware that his childhood had been similar to his own. A rotating door of hospital stays and weak spells. Too ill to play outside or with others. Experiences that he was unable to get, tucked away in his room. The only escape provided in the books he devoured.[break][break]

This is nice to hear. It makes him feel less alone.[break][break]

Not weak? He’s not sure the last time someone has considered him anything but weak.[break][break]

The hand atop his head makes Hazel perk. A small smile flits across his lips.[break][break]

His posture lifts, and there’s a degree of admiration that brightens the gray of his eyes as he watches his uncle.[break][break]

“Thank you, sir,” his head dips in a slightly awkward nod, unused to the praise without it being conditional. This could very well be conditional too, but it feels less so right now, in the blur of the moment.[break][break]

As Dmitri sits back, Hazel’s head tilts. Why is he better?[break][break]

“I…” he pauses, brows knitting as he frowns in consideration. “Well. They’re content to ride on my father’s coattails, just the same as he did before.” His gaze sharpens as he looks back up, convicted.[break][break]

“That’s not good enough for me, uncle.”[break][break]

It’s why he’s pursued different degrees at university. And why he seeks more from his education. Why he wants to go further.
[break][break]

[attr="class","icon"]

the smile he draws out of young hazel is a treat. as is any other evidence of the shell cracking, just bit by bit. piece by piece. like a piece of metal folded under his thumb, turning inward.

[break][break] with passing minute, the wheel of manipulation turns.

[break][break] dmitri's smile turns wider, pride gleaming in his scarlet red gaze.

[break][break] "yes. exactly that - you understand that wealth and success does not come to those who merely want it."

[break][break] a hand slides to his shoulder.

[break][break] "you must deserve it. you must be like a tiger, fight for that spot on that mantle, until no one will even think of pulling you off."

[break][break] his fingers curl around the young boy's flesh.

[break][break] "now tell me - how will pursue your ambition? through schooling? mentorship? let us formulate a plan together, hazel."

[break]

[attr="class","icon"]

He doesn’t know what his uncle is doing to him—how he is picking and plying the parts of Hazel that are insecure and desperate for positive attention intentionally. He has gone so long without a shred of approval that he clamors for it, and falls for the guise hook, line, and sinker.[break][break]
In fact, it will be years into adulthood before Hazel realizes the manipulation for what it is.[break][break]
Right then, though, he smiles back at Dmitri—albeit more tentatively than the one he is met with.[break][break]
“It feels cheaper that way. Unearned.” Hazel’s shoulders rise and fall, because it is simply a matter of fact thing. He wants what he wants, and he wants the merit of having obtained it himself.[break][break]
The hand on his shoulder feels like praise in and of itself. Does his uncle see how he practically breathes life into brittle bones and weak lungs with something so simple as a squeeze on the shoulder?[break][break]
Simple, but it means everything to Hazel. It means kinship.[break][break]
He nods in agreement, brows knitting together as the somber nature that he has carried all of his life sinks back into his expression. Deserve it. He does deserve it. He works so hard and it has always been for nothing. The seeds of resistance had already been planted, but now they feel nurtured under his uncle’s supervision. Pushing back against parents who want little to do with him feels pleasing, and possible.[break][break]
Still, there is a small flicker of confusion in wide, grey eyes as he watches Dmitri. “A plan..? What sort of plan do you mean, uncle? I had planned to go to university, though, yes. Away from here.”
[break][break]

[attr="class","icon"]

hazel albrecht may not know it, but he is at the early stages of dmitri's manipulation. full of insidious charm, he claims his nephew in a way that his parents never will.

[break][break] it sets the stage for hazel's future. the future under dmitri, under rocket.

[break][break] he smiles.

[break][break] "there will be time to think of it, hazel. what is important - " his ruby eyes gleam in the library's dull shadow. "is that whatever we do, we do it together."

[break][break]